Submarines, musical theater and windbreakers
a few of my dad's favorite things, for his birthday
People often ask me what it’s like growing up with a military officer as a father. Was he stricter than “normal”? Did he run our house like a boot camp? I typically laugh and remark that it often felt like my mother was the more military style parent than my dad. My brother and I feared her footsteps coming down the hall much more than our dads. The truth is, even though my dad was a 30 year career Naval officer, the military didn’t wield much influence inside our home. It was his job but a lot of the characteristics of my dad’s personality seemed in some ways, at odds with the military stereotype.
Sure, he looked like a cross between Popeye the Sailor Man and Bruce Willis in Die Hard, he cursed a lot and could do an impressive number of pushups, but he also loved dance, music, and theater. He was the one who enthusiastically showed me West Side Story, Funny Girl, sentimentally sharing that his love for country music was rooted in every song having a story. He loudly sang his favorite Yentl songs, “Papa can you hear me!?” while gushing about Barbara Streisand’s genius, insisting we watch Singin’ in the Rain, Hello Dolly and every Shirley Temple movie made. He believed in duty, responsibility, sacrifice, not sleeping in or wasting the day, getting chores done, but he also believed and became a practitioner of alternative health and wellness, getting his Masters in Holistic nutrition and becoming a Master Herbalist as his side hobby all while he was commanding a Nuclear Powered Submarine as his full time job. He taught me about the power of intention, dreaming big, positive thinking and manifesting our goals but partnered with discipline, hard work and regimented routine. He taught me from a young age how women’s menstrual cycles are tied to the moon and that we are in touch with our highest intuition while bleeding, so to never listen if someone accused me of being overly emotional while hormonal, that in fact, that is when I can see the truth.
There are so many ways that it almost feels incorrect by nature that my dad ended up spending a lifetime in the military. In his other life, he may have been a long haired, hippie, if only biology would have cooperated with him in the hair department. And yet there are things about him that either developed from military life or solidified during his time in service, that even now, a decade plus past retirement, pop up to never let us forget how he spent so many formative years. For instance, he still sometimes barks orders or answers the phone with a short, “this is Mike” to the point that I have to remind him it’s his daughter calling, not someone on his chain of command. He’s not exactly one to use a “sensitive tone” or sugar coat anything, especially when motivating me to work harder in a workout (this is something I don’t mind though, maybe because I was raised that way). We always know he’s ready to leave a party, restaurant, gathering when he circles his pointer finger in the air as if to say ‘let’s wrap it up’ but just does a short, “let’s go!” and expects us to file out behind him immediately. He’s also incredibly talented at ironing, mending clothing and making beds which I have been told was directly from his schooling at the Naval Academy. But the one thing that sticks out for me the most is the windbreakers.
Yes, windbreaker. A thin, zip up, lighter than a coat or sweater but made of synthetic material, more protective but not as cozy, comfortable or warm as a long sleeve shirt, jacket. They are designed to protect from wind and light rain, popularized for a brief time in the 1990s alongside matching wind pants but most commonly seen on cops, FBI and DEA agents…and my dad.
When I think about it, it makes a lot of sense. He was a sailor, always near or on the water, on piers, aboard ships or surfaced submarines, perched atop the sail next to the periscope. Protecting himself from the wind was a daily necessity. As a result, windbreakers became a staple for my whole family.
For as long as I can remember, before heading out the door, I heard,
“Does everyone have their windbreakers?”
“Did we pack the windbreakers?”
“Don’t forget your windbreaker, it could be windy!”
I never questioned it. Compared to my very organized, clean and orderly parents and brother, I’ve been notorious for forgetfulness and disorganization. I’m often referred to as “the tornado” in my family. When I got to the age where I was expected to be responsible for my own belongings, I often found myself in situations, shivering in the cold and wind. My dad would shake his head, “should have brought your windbreaker.”
It wasn’t until my twenties when I was living on my own in New York City that I started to notice, nobody else was wearing windbreakers, let alone talking about them. It certainly was not a garment of choice for any of my hip art school friends. It started to become really amusing to me, noticing this thing about my family, led by my dad: the attachment to and advocacy for windbreakers. I started to tease them, which didn’t go over well because preparedness is something they take seriously and having a windbreaker means being prepared. They would frown at me, shake their heads and mutter something about how I would someday learn my lesson, no sense of humor to be found.
One time I drove to Florida to meet my parents for a vacation. My dad was on the phone giving me directions to the hotel. He made a point to tell me he’d be standing out front in his yellow windbreaker. Like I somehow wouldn’t recognize him, without confirming beforehand that he would indeed be wearing a neon yellow windbreaker.
But my absolute favorite windbreaker memory is of a summer weekend my husband and I went to visit my parents. We ended the visit by driving out to the Dunes on Lake Michigan for one last night before Aaron and I drove home to Nashville. After a long hike, we decided to stop at a restaurant for dinner. It was the first summer of the pandemic so the restaurant was practicing socially distanced outdoor seating on their rooftop patio with a beautiful view of the glistening expansive lake. There was a line at the door so Aaron, my mom and I waited by the car while my dad went to ask how long it would be until we were seated.
Before we knew it, my dad was running back to the car, throwing open the trunk and rifling through the overnight bag he and my mom had packed. I startled slightly, stepped back and watched as he yelled “They’re putting us on the roof! I’m getting my windbreaker! Let’s go!” He pulled out the first one, thrust it at my mom and then grabbed his own. Slightly shocked by his mission style intensity for patio seating, I burst into laughter. He looked up at me, unamused, and barked, “laugh if you want!” The unspoken part being… ‘but you’ll be the one unprepared and unprotected from the wind on the rooftop!’
Turns out, no one needed windbreakers on the rooftop but both my mom and dad were prepared, just in case. And I could not stop laughing the whole night. A table reservation on the roof and the potential risk of wind off the water had summoned my dad’s inner military man in a moment’s notice. It’s always there.
It’s my dad’s birthday this week and I love him so much. He amuses me, inspires me, frustrates me, motivates me, believes in me and makes me laugh a lot.
Happy birthday dad!
Beautifully written tribute to your dad - thank you for sharing! Happy Birthday!
Seems while entering my comment in substack I scroll up to look at something and lost it all. So, for the second time….
Happy Birthday to your dad. As commented earlier, you have written a wonderful tribute to your dad. Not being of a military family (being of Quaker beliefs, I registered to the draft during the Vietnam War as a non-combative), I am in awe of people who give service to the armed and (in my case if drafted) the unarmed services. Often, we forget we live comfortable lives because there are people in military service keeping us safe. Our country should give the very best it has to offer to our veterans. Unfortunately, there are vets homeless and on food lines (I ran a food pantry in upstate New York for several years). Our country needs to wish a man who gave 30 years of service a full country Happy Birthday. Certainly, I thank your dad for his service and wish him with deep gratitude Happy Birthday. Thanks for keeping me/my family safe for all these years.
Happy Birthday.